Tangled hair and torn hearts
by forgottenpavement
Summary: She cried for Mummy at night and Daddy always came to get her, carrying her back to his cozy bed and rubbing her back. That made her feel better and she wondered (as the London scenery passed) if that would help him as well when he cried.


**Tangled hair and torn hearts: a one-shot**

The tiny toddler stomped her feet as she walked the hallways, her brown curls a cascade of tangled knots from lack of brushing and her lips puckered in to a frown as she paced. Two minutes, he'd said! Daddy had said, "Olive, I need to speak to Lestrade for a moment. Two minutes, so stay here." A quick glance to her colored watch proved he'd lied. Well. She assumed; telling time was hard and Uncle John said it was okay for three year olds to be a tiny bit confused by the hands. He _knew _she wanted to go bake with Nana Hudson and he _knew_ she had to use the potty! Besides, Uncle Lestrade had walked out of the room at least a minute ago, so he should have followed! Sometimes Daddy forgot about important things like that when he was thinking, though, Mummy used to say. You just had to remind him. Giving a disgruntled huff, Olive Holmes marched past Anderson (he raised an eyebrow) and gave a smile towards Sally (the smile was returned, albeit tightly) before knocking (pounding) on the office door of a graying Detective Inspector. "Daddy? Daddy, 's Olive! 's your daughter Olive, 'cept 'm an antsy daughter right now, 'cus I want to go please?" There was a laugh from somewhere in the office and she turned slightly, her eyes wide with hurt as she looked for the source. Why were they laughing? She didn't have much time to ponder it, because the door was open and her body hoisted in the air before the location of the person had been found.  
Daddy gave her a small kiss as they walked down the stairs and she nuzzled her nose to his neck as way of apology for being a bit naughty with the knocking and what not. And for getting 'kicked out' of her daycare today. And for the drawings on the wall he'd find (if he got on the floor and tilted his head whilst looking underneath her bed) when they returned to the flat. She nodded her head when the elder Holmes told her to snuggle underneath his coat (Daddy had the best coat) and burrowed her head underneath the collar, just as she'd been taught to do last week by Uncle Lestrade. The flash of lights still penetrated her cocoon, and she wanted to tell Daddy that he was hurting her arm with how tight he was gripping it, but Mummy said it wasn't nice to complain and she wanted to be nice.  
"Mr. Holmes, can you tell us how your daughter is dealing with your wife's death?"  
"Sherlock, look this way!"  
"Your daughter was expelled from her daycare today because of a biting incident. Could you elaborate on that?"  
"Do you feel guilty for Molly's death?"  
Daddy didn't respond. He never did, but he always muttered things to himself when they entered the cab they'd hailed or after dinner. No, Daddy just always made her arm hurt and twisted his jaw funny (she could feel it on the top of her head).  
Today he slammed the door to their transportation hard and she startled a bit, which earned her another kiss on the cheek and sigh from him. He asked her if it was okay, if she wouldn't mind, if it was plausible for her to stay with Nana just for a tiny bit while he took a shower upstairs when they got back. "'Course," she'd answered, even though she was pretty sure showering meant crying and she was curious to know what Daddy looked like when he cried; she'd never seen it, but her and Nana had heard it once. It didn't sound nice and it scared her when it was followed by something smashing.  
She cried for Mummy at night and Daddy always came to get her, carrying her back to his cozy bed and rubbing her back. That made her feel better and she wondered (as the London scenery passed) if that would help him as well when he cried. You weren't allowed to go in to the bathroom when Daddy was naked, though. Only Mummy was, because she helped him wash his hair sometimes.  
"'Member when you and me, you and I, 'member when we drew silly fings and Mummy laughed so hard and then we colored 'em?"  
Her question was met with a stretched smile and nod.  
"I'll make you some more wif Nana, kay?"  
Another nod and kiss, then an unbuckling of the seatbelt and a giggle from her as Daddy pulled her out of the cab and gave her a tiny throw in the air like he used to do when Mummy was still living in 221B and not the cemetery with the gross flowers and short grass.  
Nana didn't say anything to Daddy when they walked in, just did a little shake of her head. "She's our landlady, not our bab'sitter!" Olive hollered as Sherlock walked out the door, hoping he'd laugh. He didn't.  
When Nana went to find her box of crayons, she slipped out the door and moved up the stairs as quietly as she could (it was hard to do when Mummy's books were in the hall and you had to dodge them as you went).  
"Toby, quiet!" she hissed as she finally reached the top and walked down the hallway, the elderly cat trailing behind her and making horrid mewling sounds that kind of reminded her of when Hamish was born and he cried and then – oh.  
Oh, Daddy wasn't taking a shower. That's why his hair was never wet. He was laying on his bed and he was laying on Mummy's pillow and looking at the silly pictures. He gave her a look (the look that Uncle John didn't like and the one that sometimes meant I knew what you were doing) before patting the mattress and sliding over when she pulled herself up. He wasn't crying and she was a touch disappointed.  
Daddy put the pictures down and tugged her close. "I fink I can tell time now," she whispered, pulling her arms back and toying with her watch (Molly's watch) as Daddy peered at her curiously. "And I fink it's time for Mummy to come home."  
He started crying, then, and she patted his back until he stopped.


End file.
